


Soft Intimacy

by capricorne11, Shadow0kana



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capricorne11/pseuds/capricorne11, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow0kana/pseuds/Shadow0kana
Summary: After 6000 of hiding your feelings, how do you change a relationship? Aziraphale and Crowley navigate their new found freedom after the apocalypse that wasn't, and figure out how to take the next step forward.A collaboration between Shadow0kana (fic) and Capricorne11 (art) for do-it-with-style-events' Reverse Big Bang!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Soft Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to our wonderful beta [Dashicra1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashicra1/pseuds/Dashicra1)

After the Notpocalypse came and went, not much changed. Aziraphale spent long days catching up on his reading in his dusty but otherwise- intact bookshop, while Crowley slept the excitement of the last week away. It did not take long, however, before the demon sauntered back into the shop, a dazzling smile on his lips, to ask his adversary-turned-best friend out for lunch.

“My treat, Angel.”

After that second meal together as free agents, they took to seeing each other more regularly, if not everyday. Crowley would often sleep the day away on the backroom’s couch, with Aziraphale drinking his cocoa nearby with a good book on his lap.

Things were good. Not perfect by any means, but good.

Aziraphale straightened his bow tie, looking at himself in the small mirror of the bathroom he conjured for the occasion.

Things were good.

The angel absent-mindedly looked at his pocket watch. Crowley would arrive soon.

They had settled on a nearby restaurant for that day’s outing, a French place on Romilly Street where, according to a few customers he’d overheard, one could find the best mushroom risotto in London. Aziraphale had been the one to suggest it, and Crowley wasted no time in making them a reservation for the next day. If a minor miracle ensured that the best table would be free for them, well, they answered to neither Heaven nor Hell nowadays.

Aziraphale’s thoughts were interrupted by the well-known sound of the Bentley parking illegally in front of the shop. With a pleased smile, he met Crowley outside. The demon was slouching against the side of his car, a devilish grin on his lips when he saw the angel.

“Ready, Angel?”

They walked to the restaurant at a slow pace, in no hurry to get to their destination. Their reservation would certainly wait for them, and the weather was, for once, quite pleasant.

They were quickly seated in a nice, quiet spot near the back window. Crowley watched as Aziraphale ordered for the both of them, knowing very well that before long, he would be pushing his own plate toward the angel.

The demon nursed his coffee, hoping that these little outings would soon become a habit. He had always loved watching Aziraphale enjoying himself. In the past, there had always been a hint of restraint and hesitation on the angel’s part, the threat of Heaven dampening the joy he took in all of Earth’s pleasures. This, Crowley mused, was new. Spending time together without needing an excuse and without careful looks over one’s shoulder--he could get used to it.

He would get used to it.

Watching Aziraphale smear cream on his face, Crowley grinned, hiding it behind his mug. His hand moved without his conscious input, as if to wipe the angel’s face clean, but stopped halfway, instead settling on the tablecloth.

Instead, he sent a quick, unnoticeable miracle his way.

He really wanted to reach out, he did, but something always seemed to get in the way. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times they had touched, all of them in the past eleven years.

“What do you think, my dear?” Aziraphale’s voice brought him back to the present.

“What?” He asked, having entirely missed the question.

Aziraphale looked at him with fond exasperation, and Crowley ducked his head, unable to withstand the softness in his angel’s eyes. Aziraphale’s hand moved slightly closer to the demon’s without touching it, and invisible wall seemingly blocking its way.

“I asked what your plans were, Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated pointedly. “Now that our respective si– head offices are, well, off our backs.”

Letting out a tired sigh, Crowley cracked his neck, earning himself a glare from a nearby diner.

“Was thinking of going to sleep, maybe,” he said. “Just a few weeks. All this excitement it’s just, uh, yeah, I could use a nap.”

“Oh,” was all Aziraphale said, turning back to his meal. He looked forlorn, apparently not having expected this answer. That wouldn’t do. Crowley backpedaled.

“N-y-ngk, just an idea.” He winced at his own stammering. “S’just a thought, might not do it. I – I mean, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll end up in if I leave you on your own.”

Aziraphale did not answer the gentle mocking, but seemed relieved. The rest of the meal went uneventfully, both man-shaped creatures enjoying the comfortable silence.

After their lunch at _Gauthier_ , the angel and the demon decided to go for a stroll, just a pleasant walk through the park, as they had done numerous times in the past. It still seemed different, somehow. They were relaxed, walking down the paths and smiling to whoever crossed their path. Or at least Aziraphale did, but Crowley’s usual scornful expression seemed softer than usual.

They exchanged a few remarks here and there, but mostly stayed in the same companionable silence they had been basking in since they left the bookshop.

Words were not needed, and anyway, what did you talk about after 6000 years, a botched attempt at preventing the end of the world, and surviving their scheduled execution? Even Aziraphale, who was usually keen on drowning his companion with meaningless chatter, didn’t feel any urge to break the moment.

So, they stayed silent, occasionally stealing glances at each other, small covert smiles and a couple accidental brushes of their hands as they slowly took in the crisp August air.

It was peaceful. The easy kind of peace, the one that came from knowing each other better than they knew themselves. From a tacit understanding that they were forgiven, completely.

“Let’s feed the ducks,” Aziraphale broke the silence, a kind smile directed at his demonic counterpart. “Before they leave us for winter.”

“Pretty sure they’ll be there for a while, Angel.”

Still, Crowley indulged his companion, guiding him toward the pond, standing close together. Maybe a little closer than usual.

~

He could do it, reach out, take his hand, maybe even raise it to his lips, if he felt bold enough. Aziraphale would appreciate his attempt at romance, that was a given. So why couldn’t he do it? He observed the angel from the corner of his eyes. Aziraphale was smiling softly at the ducks, his eyes twinkling under the soft light, seemingly unaware of the demon’s attention on him.

The demon observed his companion from the corner of his sunglasses. Aziraphale looked peaceful, under the filtered light coming through the leaves. His shoulders were far more relaxed than he had ever seen them, no sign of nervous fretting to be seen. It was a good look on him, Crowley thought.

He was beautiful. Crowley had always thought so. His corporation was lovely, of course, soft in all the right ways, pale and ethereal, but his physical form didn’t matter. There was something distinctively Aziraphale that Crowley couldn’t get enough of. And he could get it now, no more head office breathing down their necks, no more Angel and Demon nonsense. No more need for the Arrangement. They were free.

Free.

After 6000 years of keeping each other at arm’s length, they were free.

But that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? After 6000 of dancing around their feelings, how did one cross the line between friendship and romance? Not that Crowley minded how things were. If he could spend each days with his angel, Crowley would gladly let things remain as they were for the next six millennia.

He still hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Beside him, Aziraphale was smiling at the whatever shenanigans the ducks were getting into. His hand rested by his side, fingers relaxed. It wouldn’t take much, barely a sidestep, for their fingers to brush, to tangle and grasp each other.

They had held hands before, once on the bus that took them to London after the whole airbase debacle, and twice more when they had changed appearances. Crowley remembered the feeling of the perfectly manicured hand, soft pudgy fingers entwined with his, a reassuring pressure against his palm. If only he could find the courage to take the first step and reach out.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

Glancing sideways toward Crowley, Aziraphale let out a deep breath.

“Well, all this,” he started. “Being out in the open, not – not having to look over our shoulders. It’s a little strange.”

Crowley looked at him for a second, the hint of a smirk curving his lips upward. It amused him, how in sync they were, Aziraphale’s words echoing his earlier thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s gonna take time to get used to it.”

Aziraphale turned slightly, a gentle smile aimed directly at the demon, who couldn’t help but avert his eyes. Crowley flexed his fingers a few times to get rid of the urge to wrap them around his dovelike angel’s plump ones. It wasn’t the right moment, no matter how much his heart yearned for it.

~

~

Beside him, Aziraphale watched him squirm, an imperceptible frown dampening the rush of love that threatened to escape him.

It wasn’t fair to Crowley.

The demon had always been the one to take the lead and had indeed been acknowledging both their feelings long before Aziraphale even admitted them to himself. He shouldn’t bear the pressure of making the first steps as well.

He deserved better from him.

But after all they had been through, after rejecting the demon so many times, Aziraphale was at a loss, having no idea how to breach the subject. His books, for once, were no help at all. Gripping Crowley’s lapels and pulling him into a passionate kiss seemed a bit too much, and Aziraphale had to discreetly miracle his blush away at the very thought.

Not that he thought the demon’s nerves would handle such a rash act either. It didn’t matter how tough the demon’s exterior was. Acting rashly would only fluster his poor serpent.

No, they should talk it out, as they had always done. Surely, this could not be any harder than negotiating the Arrangement, could it? They knew each other so well, their relationship being so old.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Swallowing a guilty sigh, Aziraphale thought back on their 6000 years of shared history. Communication had never been their strong point, as they had both proved time and time again. Even more so in the past year.

They had made progress. On the bench, after leaving their new acquaintances at the airbase, they had talked. Maybe not as much as they should’ve, but it was a start, Aziraphale thought. Acknowledging that they had each other, no matter what would be thrown their way when Heaven and Hell would indubitably catch up, was a step in the right direction. And then, there had been the bus ride, during which the angel had been so sure things would change.

Looking out at the pond, Aziraphale could recall it perfectly.

It had taken him a few seconds to register the sensation. Aziraphale had been exhausted and had taken a seat beside Crowley without being aware of it. Rather than fretting at the unfamiliar pressure and warmth against his shoulder, he had sagged against it, a poor imitation of the usual slouch of his demonic counterpart.

Not that he cared. It felt nice, and if this was his last night on Earth, Aziraphale wanted to indulge in the comfort of Crowley’s solid weight against him. He wasn’t sure who had instigated the contact, but before the bus could even get out of Tadfield, his hand was being held securely in Crowley’s grasp.

Crowley’s grip was strong, firm, but also almost tender, in the way his thumb rubbed absently against the angel’s knuckles. It spoke volumes of the demon’s feelings toward his angel, reassuring him that everything would be alright, even if he himself didn’t believe it.

It was a warm, reassuring hold, a promise that nothing could get him if the demon was there. And as they were making their way back to London to spend what would most likely be the last night of their very long lives, Aziraphale felt safe. Safer in his demon’s hold than he had ever felt in Heaven.

When the very confused driver stopped in front of Crowley’s building, they both let go at the same time, the spell broken. To Aziraphale’s dejection, they would not touch again, not until the time came to realize Agnes’s Nutter last prophecy.

Watching Crowley from the corner of his eye, Aziraphale longed to reach out, take the nimble hand in his and give it a gentle squeeze.

His own hand moved out of its own volition and for a moment, Aziraphale thought he would do it. Crowley shoved his hands in his too-tight pockets, hiding himself unknowingly from the touch of the angel.

With a sigh, Aziraphale turned on his heels, his gaze averted. He feared that, should Crowley see his eyes, his inner turmoil would be revealed. No matter how much he ached, Aziraphale wouldn’t let him see his uncertainty. He could not do that to him, not anymore.

“We should get going,” Aziraphale broke the silence. “It’s getting quite late.”

Looking around, Crowley took in the late- afternoon sun. The park was never truly empty, but he could see families leaving for an early diner, couples disappearing who knows where and the ducks… the ducks doing what it was that ducks did when getting ready to retire, uninterested in the bread and peas thrown their way.

“Sure, Angel.”

~

As they walked back to the bookshop, something seemed off. The quiet comfort they’d basked in earlier was gone, an awkwardness that neither could fully explain having replaced it. Crowley’s shoulders were tense, a sharp contrast with the looseness of his swagger. He cursed at himself. He had kept his mouth shut for once, but somehow had still screwed things up. Why else would Aziraphale’s soft smile be replaced with this slight frown he recognized as the first sign of fretting? 

A stray thought flew by in his mind, almost stopping him in his tracks. Had he been too obvious? Had Aziraphale realized how close he had been to closing the gap? Crowley had really wanted to, and ever since they left Tadfield’s airbase, Crowley was certain that this desire was shared.

The same impenetrable wall that had stopped his hand back at the restaurant was still in place. It took the form of a voice sometimes. One that told him no, that told him he went too fast.

Letting out a sigh, Crowley said goodbye to his angel before taking off in the Bentley. He was being greedy, wanting to touch, wanting the closeness that had been refused to him before. He had thought for the longest time that this desire came from his snake-like roots, always in need of the warmth that had been taken away from him. Parking the car, the demon laid his head on the steering wheel. Maybe his snakish body was craving the heat from every contact with the angel now that he’d had a taste.

~

Hearing the old car leave, Aziraphale let out a sigh, his hand clutching at his chest.

“Tea,” he said out loud. “I rather think I should…”

It had truly been a beautiful day out. After so many years of carefully planning each of their outings, it had felt exhilarating to be out in the open, without a care in the world with his demon.

The kettle whistled, and Aziraphale smiled fondly at his old bookshop.

“Thank you, old friend.”

Making his way to the back, Aziraphale brought his focus back to the present. Making tea had always been a relaxing activity, and his body took over for him: taking a mug, measuring the tea, pouring, stirring, so the angel could let his mind wander back to the lovely afternoon he spent with his favorite being in the world.

Would Crowley ever get tired of waiting? As unlikely as it seemed, the fear of being abandoned, left to his slow pace as the demon raced away from him, had been at the back of his mind since the 1800s. And as painful as it is to think about it, it would be his right. Because the demon has always made it quite obvious what he wants, what he longs for, and Aziraphale has always been too much of a coward to just _do something about it_.

Taking a sip of his tea, Aziraphale closed his eyes. Fire- red hair and golden eyes danced behind his eyelids as his heart swelled in his chest.

Very soon, he mused, he would take that step, would reach out to his demon, and there would be no doubt of the extent of his love for the fiery ginger.


End file.
